Consolidation

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Embrita Blogging

This just might lead to more regular updates....right?

Some fears...about boys.

I'm just going to vocalize this one a lot, because the more I talk about it the better I'll feel, right?

I was all set to have a girl. It's no secret. I understand girls. I know what to do with girls. Granted, a lot of my friends are boys. Always have been. I was a tomboy. So it's not like I won't know what to do at the park with my son.

But puberty. The teenage years...when you truly start to become who you're going to be. That's when things start to go all wonky.

There are things I'll be able to cope with, even if they're not my first choice:

Being a slacker stoner kid.
(Really, would I be the pot or the kettle there? Not that I was a stoner, but I certainly held tight to "slacker." I also own that hat.)

Football. I guess you really just want them to be happy, right? (This is Tony Romo, btw.)

Alex P. Keaton. If Steve has any say, you know he'll have the wardrobe at least.

There are things I'm going to try and (wink)indoctrinate:

Chris Sharma. We climb. It just the lifestyle. This is actually what makes me think Slacker Stoner Kid is likely...have you hung out with climbers lately?

J.J. Reddick. Duke Basketball is just a way of life here. College ball, really. So if he decides to go rogue and picks UConn or something I'll still love him. Promise. I'll even go to games.

Tony Hawk. Drool.

Andy Roddick. We suck at tennis so it isn't so much a way of life, but I really like it and if he shows interest I'll encourage it.

There are things Steve will try and (wink) indoctrinate:

Lance Armstrong.
If there were a chance for a Yellow Jersey, Steve might actually weep with joy. At the very least, at the rate he streams Time Trials and and races and shops for bikes...there's no avoiding exposure.

This is both of us. Steve will just be the role model of the man in the kitchen. We are foodies.

The Dandy Warhols...specifically Courtney Taylor-Taylor. I would be the indoctrinator...but Guitar Hero doesn't count as being musical. Even if I have unlocked Shirley Manson.

(I should add that I am in no way saying that the only way I'll love my son is if he's a pro...any of these things. Avid hobbyists enjoy life just as much...and I'd be willing to argue that sometimes they enjoy the sport/whatever more because there's less pressure. If he grows up to be an investment banker because he loves numbers then more power to him.)


And then there's this...




At which point we will tie him to a chair and give him an intervention.

Why? You ask? Because he's protesting?

No. Go First Amendment!

Because he's speaking his mind?

No. Again - first amendment. And really - any child of mine is going to be opinionated and will let you know.

It's because he needs a history lesson. And a civics lesson. And a lesson in...reality... (I'll give you a hint: all of those adjectives are mutually exclusive. So being all of those things would be a neat trick. And confusing.)

Willful ignorance will be met with an iron fist in our house. There can be dissent but you better do your research before you have t-shirts and signs made.



Of course...I'm doing all of this premature freaking out and the reality is that our son will turn out just like this:

Shameless

It's shameless, really. The motivation for today's post.

I'm entering AN ONLINE CONTEST. A BLOG contest. I *NEVER* do that.

Ok, I do, but I can count on one hand the other times that I have. Once. The Pioneer Woman was giving away the camera body I'm lusting after and saving up for...I couldn't resist.

And now - my favorite Daddy Blog (Pacing The Panic Room: source of the awesome Maternity Series) - the one I make Husband read and pass along to people who want a man's perspective on things - is giving away a whole stash of Fuzzibunz. That's right. I'm entering a contest to win cloth diapers.

Why? Because in January, when Sebastian arrives, we're going to need to cover his ass. And I've already registered for them - but winning an entire stash would allow me to remove them from my registry and my list of Things To Make Sure We Have Enough Of and relax because Bunny's ass will be covered.

It will also make me feel better for being almost 22 weeks along and still having All-Day Morning sickness.

So there we have it. A post purely for the hope of winning diapers.

And now back to our regularly scheduled narcissism.

Strawberry Lemonade

Apparently, along with cravings, nausea, fatigue, odd swelling, and forgetfulness - pregnancy also causes ADD.

I was Nesty before I got knocked up (shocking, I know. See the Embrita Blog for proof) and I keep waiting for some kind of over-drive nesting to kick in. I think what's happening instead is that I just can't focus long enough to finish a single project. I hope that goes away soon.

So halfway through my Hang-Shelves and Baby Proof to Office project (it will appear on the Embrita Blog if I get my act together and post it) I decided that Bunny needs strawberry lemonade. I hit the trusty Smitten Kitchen site and altered her Watermelon Lemonade Recipe.

It's really tasty. And Easy.

Lemons, juiced
(I only used 6 of these)

+

Strawberries, pulverized (in handy chopper)

+
Simple Syrup. I didn't take a picture of it because it looks like dirty water in a measuring cup. (Lazy girls simple syrup: put 1/2 c sugar in pyrex. Add 1/2c boiling water. Stir until dissolved. Let cool. Add to pitcher.)

+

Water to taste

=

Strawberry Lemonade.

Enjoy!

V-day.

Also known as: the halfway point. It was Saturday. I spent the day (me and my low blood pressure) on the couch.

Friday, this happened:

If you turn your head to the side and squint, you can see a face in the right blob. What you can't see (because I'm certain that Bunny would kill me in future for posting the goods on the interweb where nothing really ever gets deleted) is that Bunny is a BOY.

So I spent most of the weekend saying things to Husband like "your son is using my bladder as a punching bag." It makes it more real.

I said the other day to Husband that I wasn't getting a lot of unsolicited advice. I was half-wrong. It's still not obvious to strangers that I'm knocked up, so they don't really say anything. But the people who DO know us? Totally different story.

I feel like making a list of the "oh that'll change when the baby gets here" shit that I'm hearing from people who should know better than to say things like that to me.

* Our car. It's "too small" and of course we're going to need another one so that Husband can go to work and I can go to Dr. appointments. This is Husband's preferred (most days) way to travel:

This is our car:



Yes, it's compact, but we don't need more space than that. We're only having TWO KIDS. And I DON'T WORK.

Will circumstances change that we eventually need a new car? Maybe. But we'd prefer not to have two car payments. (None of this stops Husband from browsing the new cars online, though. He is still male.)

* Elimination Communication. Why do people assume that this means I'm going to let Bunny crawl around without a diaper on and I'll just be following with a mop? Seriously. Think about that for a second. Would ANYONE do that? No. Because it's disgusting and unsanitary and unrealistic. What actually happens is closer to the system for house-training a dog. Except the "dog" in this situation can't walk yet and wears DIAPERS.

Oh - and Cloth Diapers. Forget that they're totally cute Fuzzibunz and BumGenius that we'll be giving a go..."They don't rinse themselves" I heard this morning. You're right, they don't. They also don't blow out as much, have almost no instance of giving diaper rash, don't collect in landfulls (I misspelled that on purpose), and don't wind up costing $3k over the diaper-wearing life of the child. So I have to rinse the poop into the toilet? Bummer. And an extra load of laundry? NOT THAT. Seriously, people. We only have one planet. And Bunny's heiny is one I want to take care of. I could go on and on. But we have a compost pile in the back yard - so clearly I'm not the person for whom the argument "I don't care about the landfills, I'd rather tie it up in a plastic bag and toss it than wash it" WON'T WORK. Clue in, please.

* Pumping and bottle feeding. Will my boobs be a buffet? Yes. But every now and again, Bunny is going to have to get food "to go" and let Daddy feed him. With a boob-shaped bottle. (If he takes it.) I get it from self-labeled "Breast-feeding Nazi's" and the people who think that Breast Milk is for peasants and advocate formula-only feeding. My boobs. My decision. The only other person who will have a say is still cooking, so BACK OFF.

* Montessori/Reggio Emilia. The things I hear. I could flood your inbox with information advocating both of these approaches. You have already raised children, you have already chosen your method, you have don't not a bit of research regarding my plans. You know not of what you speak. My children will not be undisciplined heathens. (Ok, technically they might be heathens, but our education approach has NOTHING to do with that.) They will not die some horrible not-sleeping-in-a-crib-related death. The lack of molded plastic eyesores in our home will not scar them for life. My decision to limit television and the tv-inspired crap that tends to invade the homes of children reared on Disney Princesses will NOT make them social outcasts. And even if it did...is that really the social group we're going to feel like we need to fit in with anyway? No. It's not our lifestyle, it's not going to be Bunny's lifestyle.

* Polly and Kipper. They are part of our family. I am not allergic. Husband is, but not to the extent that he used to be. I will not "prepare myself" to have to get rid of the cats because you're paranoid.

* Circumcision. Is this your penis? Is this your son's penis? Did we ask you for your advice? If the answer to any of these questions is, yes, then I will gladly listen to what you have to say. Otherwise...please stay out of my doctor's office. Thank you.

* Vaccinations. Please see above. Only substitute the word "body" for the word "penis."

Apparently, V-day isn't just the midway point, it also stands for Venty Blog Day. Clearly there were some things I needed to get off my chest.

I'll leave you with a cute:

Polly so very much loves her new bed.

Baby. Daddy.

So I went to Chili's To Go for lunch today because I drove by it on my way home from Michaels (relatively unsuccessful trip) and thought "that grilled Caribbean salad sound mighty tasty right about now..." so I pull a vaguely illegal uturn and backtrack only to find out that not only is it not on the menu, but they can't even pretend it is and rig one together for me. Oh...honey lime dressing, how I'll miss you...

So I order chicken crispers (meh) and spinach artichoke dip (for later) and as I'm sitting waiting for them to make fresh chicken strips and old fries the little girl behind the register and I start chatting.

By little girl, of course, I mean she was probably around my age.

her: "So...how's your day been?"

me: "About like this, but I'm out of the house so it's good!"

her: "Yeah, my car was in the shop last week and I was stuck at home and it just got to be too much."

me: "I hear ya. You have to get out. I think I've watched every dvd we own." (I have. Twice. And all of the special extras because I like the 2-disc versions. Thankfully there's netflix and streaming interwebs)

her: "Do you not have cable?"

me: "No...." and I think, what kind of weird shut-in does she think I am? So then I add "I'm pregnant, and so I'm really tired, so I've spent the past couple of months holding down the couch." No one wants to hear that by "holding down the couch" you mean "not being able to hold down lunch." Certainly not when you've just ordered the greasiest lunch you've had in months. I go on to say, so brilliantly: "Plus, if you're watching something you've seen a million times it doesn't matter if you sleep through half of it."

Yes. I am that lame.

So then she says: "Wow, how far along are you?"

Me: "about 4 and a half months, not that you can tell."

Her: "My best friend is about 6 months pregnant and she's still got a tiny little bump, but she spends a lot of time laying on the couch and we just bring her food." I nod knowingly.

Then she says, very hesitantly: "So do you live with your father - I mean, the daddy...of...your...baby...?"

Me: "My husband. Yes." And then it's like this huge flood of relief (and I realize I had my hands behind my back because I'd been pulling up my still-too-big maternity jeans and she couldn't see the rings.)

She is now effusive: "That's so great! And so exciting! Wonderful!" Tripping over herself.

My question - if you're worried that the answer to the question you want to ask a total stranger is going to make any interaction after that uncomfortable...maybe you shouldn't ask it in the first place.

Just Sayin'.

Then they brought out my food, she wished me luck, I told her to have a nice day, and I came home and watched the commentary for Bewitched.

Vaccinations. Some research.

That's my uterus. Well, it was....10 weeks ago. Meet Bunny, my fetus. Yes folks...we got into the adoption process and I got knocked up. No one wants details so let's just say that I dropped the test on Husband's desk and said "the fuck is that?" I had taken it because I was waiting for my cycle to restart so I could schedule an HSG. Word.

Bunny at 12 weeks. Sex ID will happen at the end of August. You know I'll tell you all about it. (BTW - the 1st tri is like something out of a sci-fi movie. At least Bunny is healthy.)

So. Vaccinations. Lots and Lots of research.

There are extremes, of course, a lot of people in the medical community are throwing down the VACCINATE OR DIE hammer and the other extreme is throwing down a very emotional VACCINES ARE KILLING OUR KIDS hammer.

And since I've been called a "House Patient," it makes sense to think that Bunny will inherit that.

So, here is a preliminary list of my questions:

* kids these days are getting 4 times MORE vaccines than we got. Including Hep B at the ripe age of 4 hours old...if I'm negative and Steve is negative, does my newborn really need to be vaccinated against an STD?
good links:
http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/hepatitis-b/DS00398/DSECTION=risk-factors
http://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/preview/mmwrhtml/mm5251a3.htm


* And Chicken Pox?

* And does such a tiny baby need to be barraged with so MANY toxins (some of these vaccines have... formaldehyde in them and who knows what else) so close together?

* And tetanus. Why is my 4 day old child getting a tetanus vaccine? My crawler? sure. But a child who is going to be swaddled and in a sling and drinking mommy's breast milk is not going to step on a rusty nail. And that's one that not communicable. Unless the infect person turns into a psycho and starts shooting unvaccinated people with a nail gun. ... using rusty nails. AND - why is that vaccine bundled with Whooping Cough? I get that Whooping Cough is deadly in infants and the elderly, but both my GP and an Infectious Disease doc (when I had the brain swell) told me that they've never conclusively seen it and when they think they had they prescribe an inhaler and everyone goes about their lives.

Some links that may or may not be helpful.

FDA warning re: what prevented passage of the vax the 1st time around http://baby.families.com/blog/fda-issues-warning-for-rotavirus-vaccine

I have particular issue with this one. Remember the Lyrica? That wasn't passed the first couple of times and then - without being improved - it was - and I had all of the wrong side-effects. I hate to take that chance with my infant.

cdc schedule: http://www.cdc.gov/vaccines/recs/schedules/downloads/child/2009/09_0-6yrs_chart_only.jpg

alternative schedule: http://www.lewrockwell.com/miller/miller15.html

1974 schedule: http://www.mothering.com/discussions/showthread.php?t=371005

regarding what I like to call the Merck-CDC circle Jerk: http://parenting.families.com/blog/your-childs-been-invited-to-a-pox-party (ok - it's not listed in this article, but Merck is the only company that makes the chicken pox vaccine. They donate hundred of thousands to he CDC research fund. The CDC says kids NEED this vaccine to go to public school. Merck makes a ton of money...you see where I'm going with this. It's shady.)

a "what if": http://health.families.com/blog/what-if-we-stopped-immunizations

FAQ: http://health.families.com/blog/eight-questions-answered-about-immunizations

The anti-homeopathy rhetoric: http://www.randi.org/site/index.php/swift-blog/661-hiding-homeopathy-behind-real-science.html


Since we plan on living overseas, yes there will ultimately be vaccinations. Because even though Polio is basically eradicated here...it's not everywhere - for example. But I just need more information. I'll keep you updated.

Never A Dull Moment

The neighbors have a Macaw. It's name is Baby.


Over the weekend, husband said "I think they've also got chickens." I hadn't seen or heard such chickens, but then today I'm in the office with the windows open and I hear this odd strangled sound so I look out the window to make sure my fearless hunters hadn't caught anything they regarded as food/a present, and what did I see? Chickens. A white one and a red one.

This is Fred:

Apparently the eggs are really tasty.

Anyway - this is what my fearless hunters did:



This is Polly. Kipper buried himself in weeds (which will have left burrs all over his coat) and then rushed inside as soon as the danger had passed. I had to coax Polly out from hiding.

Sidenote, I've been using the word "poulet" lately to describe people (or cats) who are being big chickens...because it's French for Chicken and is rather satisfying to say. The irony of calling my cats Big Poulet's regarding their response to actual chickens isn't lost on me.

Back to work, now. (I'm 34,000 words in and in order to be considered for anything aside from the recycling bin I need roughly 50-60 THOUSAND more words.)

We must now own a sailboat

Seriously. Instead of retirement property (which is what we think we'll buy instead of a house...we like renting and I want to live all over the globe before I die at the age of 101 on Halloween - seriously. Deathclock.com told me so.)

Anyway - instead of retirement property, we'll buy a really awesome sailboat....or a starter sailboat and upgrade as the time/income/skills provide...and then it won't matter if the oceans rise up and swallow all of the dry land because we'll be living on our own floating island. Like in Waterworld. But with better hygiene.

So you're wondering what inspired this? Aside from the fact that it's brilliant and I love the water?

We went sailing on Wednesday night.

Fisherman Steve:

Steve Hoists the Mail Sail:

Emily Drives:

Steve Drives:

Pretty racing boats:

And now you want one, too.

Happy Sailing!

Sunday in the City

I tagged along with Husband into San Francisco to meet up with some of his friends from his Intern days. It was fun. Those girls are crazy. Also, knowing Husband like I do and knowing them (though not very well) -- I have no idea how he didn't get intensely crazy when he went with them to Italy. He's a planner and they're not. He's generally not prone to wildness, and they're the girls who yell out of the car at the guys they met in bars the night before (and then we all laughed for the better part of an hour over it.) It was a good afternoon.

Anyway, I didn't take many pictures because there was mostly eating and wandering through a couple of neighborhoods...but when we found ourselves outside of City Lights Bookstore (where I worship at the Alter of Ferlinghetti) I couldn't help myself:

Translation:

The Air was soft,
The stars so fine,
The promise of every cobbled alley
so great...
-Jack Kerouac

(more beat poet information HERE)

(yes, there was picture reuse. I had people waiting...and I took 10 pictures of my toes...not all posted)

Unrelated to San Francisco:

I'm re-writing (which is 90% of writing anyway, right?) my novel. It's making my brain hurt. I do think that I"m not suited for 3rd Person narration. This is reinforced by the fact that all of my favorite books (off the top of my head) are written in 1st person. Harry Potter excepted.

I'm also re-reading Generation X (highly recommend, review forthcoming) and I feel it seeping into my life. Coupland is under-credited for his role in Cult Societal norms. In FACT - you can draw a direct line from Generation X to Fight Club and stupid Palahniuk (whom I actually really like) gets credited for ideas that were clearly evident in Generation X - written five years before Fight Club. What I can't be sure of, though, is whether that's true because Palahniuk read Generation X and was inspired, or if that was just the Zeigeist. And since I was in High School at the time and had pretty much checked out from...everything...I may never know...

Happy Friday!

My poor imitation...inspired by the lovely images at It's Pretty Good.

Happy Weekend!

Sad Day

RIP, Frankie Manning.

Go Ahead...Make My Day

Okay!

Go here. Please note the author. Then read the 3rd comment. Go ahead. I'll wait.


Did you go? Did you witness the awesomeness?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?

Ok - if you didn't click then I'll paraphrase: I wrote a kick ass review (if I do say so myself) of a Must Read book. The AUTHOR HERSELF visited my blog and LEFT A COMMENT. And not a "Lady, you totally suck. How could you butcher my work like that?" Comment.

It says this: "Emily, thanks for a thoughtful and well-argued review! LTC"

I want to FRAME IT. Some people frame their first dollar. I'm framing my first positive (albeit one-line) review from a person whose published works I reviewed.

This gives me hope that in the summer when I start churning through my advanced copies. (I have a hook up. It's ok to be jealous.)

So that's my day.

What we've been doing wrong

who knew?

Hm...

So I was going through my old blogs so that I could capture images to put on my portfolio on the embritadesign.com site and I realized something. I used to cuss in my blogs. Not a lot, but with about the same frequency that I do in my daily life...and it's worse now that my people interation has shrunk and has no professional basis.

At one point I realized I have relatives reading - the Elders of the Family, if you will. And so, as happens when I'm in their company, I temper my language.

But that - while being me - isn't really accurate. It's out of respect (mostly for my Grandfather) but it still feels unnatural.

And so, with that in mind, I'm going to stop tempering my language. The voice of this blog will return to the days of its youth. Which will be awesome.

And hey, I don't cuss as much as Salinger, and he's an American Classic.

Nursery 1.0

Can be found Here.

ch-ch-ch-changes

1st off, we got what might be the Cutest Bunch of Carrots Ever in our farm box today. Seriously:

Do I have freakishly large man-hands? Yes. But they're not that big. The carrots are just tiny.

2nd...I persuaded my lovely family to completely jump the gun with me and I am now the proud owner of a gifted (from my lovely family) second-hand stroller.

It will be perfect for strolling up and down Lincoln while we shop and eat and meander. It will be perfect for going on picnics, but NOT for actual hiking on the local trails. The only thing that will work there is one of these:

(not my husband, baby, or backpack. Image from here. Actual carrier will likely be purchased from craigslist.)

3rd: we encountered a snag with the agency we had been talking to about adopting. A major Red Flag. Backstory: you are allowed to specify race and in some instances gender. Steve and I talked about it and decided that our family and friends are colorful enough that regardless of race there would be a loving, stable adult in our lives to provide a "looks like me" role model. Because - to be frank - the only person who's going to understand the race-specific angst that comes with being a person is someone of that specific race.

However, one of the perks of adopting is that you can choose your gender. I feel strongly enough about wanting a daughter that we decided this is the way to go, since that agency we were talking to allowed it. For an extra $5800. If we had specified a boy it would have been the same price. If we have specified a race on top of gender it would have been an additional $5800.

Like with a car, every option adds to the price tag.

We're not buying a car. We're adopting a child.

In addition to that horrifying business practice, there are a lot of allusions to hidden fees in the contract, which means that what starts out already expensive becomes prohibitive by the time they're finished with you.

So we opted out, giving them the very real reasoning that Steve has to have gum surgery this summer, and I might have to have a procedure or two myself (no need for details unless it happens) and we'd rather wait until those are over and done with before we bring a child into our home.

This weekend we're looking at two other agencies, both of whom are very up front about their pricing, and are highly rated with the BBB. I'm not sure if we'll be able to specify gender, but if not, then that just means that the universe decided we need a boy. I'm ok with that.

Happy Friday!

The First Big Phone Call

We were on the phone for an hour and a half this morning. There is so much to process. I'm digesting and when I can present it coherently, I will loop you in.

For right now, though, I'm sharing my first ever purchase for our child:


It's a first printing, if you can believe it. I found it at a lovely little used bookstore here. It's fabulous on many levels:

1) It's Eloise, who is timeless and wonderful.
2) She's in Paris, where will plan on living for a little while at some point.
3) We're adopting a GIRL.

Happy Wednesday!

braindead

Tomorrow morning we have our informational conversation with our adoption counselor. At 9 am PST. We have a long list of questions that are both banal and illuminating.

Am I going to hell because, in case we happen to adopt and African American baby, my ancestors likely owned slaves and neither Steve nor I currently know/socialize with any African Americans and would therefore not be able to provide our adopted child with a role model who looks like her?

Is it bad that we chose "girl" because a) we can since we're adopting and b) I really really want a girl?

Is it wrong that the fact that my Brother In Law will soon become "Uncle Duc" makes me gigglesnort?

Ok, those last two aren't actually on there. We're adopting (and paying through the nose for it) so we should be able to choose our gender.

Luckily, I've been distracted for the past week by a visit from a very dear friend. She came, she slept on the AMAZING air mattress in the guest room (review to come on the embrita blog), we went shopping, hiking, to Monterey Bay, and into San Francisco. There was cooking, baking, giggling, marathon style Weeds watching (if you can cope with the R rating, I HIGHLY recommend it) and now I'm so tired. I might sleep all day after the phone call. If I'm not too wired.

So it's time to head and get some sleep so that I can form sentences for at least the crucial hour or so tomorrow.

I leave you with a photo of the good times:

One Phone Call

and I'm all veklempt.

I just got off the phone with the scheduler for the lawyers. Our consultation is next Wednesday (April Fool's day) at 9am.

Rundown:

We are getting a package (complete with DVD) in the mail in the next few business days. We review and make up a list of any questions we have. Then we meet with the consultant to go over those questions and find out what the fees will be...let's just say that the next time someone says "it's going to cost your first born child" you can equate that to a new Prius. Or a new Mercedes.

The irony is that our insurance will cover infertility treatments. If I manage to get knocked up, it would cover the maternity care - 100%. We have INSANELY good insurance. But there is no financial help for those of us who chose not to undergo hormone therapy and adopt a child instead.

Anyway...so we go through that. And then we put together our family album for the birth mothers to look at. Because they chose us. Not the other way around. People with stage fright need not apply.

We have decided that a semi-open (we'll determine if you can actually decide this later, but for now it works) adoption is the way we're going to go. Because it won't ever be a secret that our children did not spring from our loins. Or our foreheads. So Christmas, birthdays, other major life events will warrant photos and letters. Maybe not as open as my cousin, but then that is a unique situation.

I had to email them a first photo so that they could stick it in the file. This is harder to do than you would imagine. Think about your photos...do you have one where both you and your spouse/partner are looking at the camera, smiling, not wearing some goofy costume/waving around a drink? And where you don't look like sociopaths? Right. One. Maybe two.

Our winner:

Taken in September of 07. Word.

So that's where we're at. I have that high dive feeling again.

OH. And. Once we are deemed "worthy" and we have the funds (read: have sold vital organs) the average match time is FOUR MONTHS. Four Months. Four. Four.

I need a drink.

Stuffy Stuff Stuff

I took this with my phone. We're at Planet Granite, which is awesome. I love climbing and I love that Steve is starting to climb with me. I'm also inspired to make this weird part of our backyard into a climbing wall.

This weird part:
First there will be lots and lots of cleaning, obviously. It's neglected back there.

Tuesday my friend Jessica is coming out to visit for a week. We're going to go in the city and bum around for a day and then hike another day and there's talk of going to a winery...should be good times.

On a completely jumping-the-gun note, I've started to plan out our nursery. We haven't even met with the counselor yet, but I've already rearranged the house in my mind to make room for a baby. The things you think about while you're folding laundry...

Oh, and also - there are photos up on the artist rising site for purchase as posters. I add more every few days as I edit and they get approved, so check back from time to time. And pimp me out.

So there's that. And in honor of a lazy Sunday afternoon, I think I'm going to take a nap.

New Tag

"Thank you for visiting XXXX and for giving us the opportunity to help build your family through the miracle of adoption.

You have just completed the first step of your adoption journey."

You read that right.

Step One. Check.

So from now on, when I blog about our Journey, there will be the adoption tag. For easy reference.

Happy Sunday!

My Yesterday, in which I showered with my cats

So I'm instant messaging with my sister yesterday:

4:47 PM i just showered with my cats.

There's more chatting about kittens a friend of ours is in possession of and then:

5:14 PM it just occurred to me that you showered with your cats!?!?!?!?!

Yes. And my only regret is that there are no photos. She got the condensed story as to why, so I'll switch over to a chat I had later with another friend, who got the story in detail. I will, of course sanitize my language a bit. (Although why, I'm not really sure. If you want a culprit just know that I'm re-reading Catcher in the Rye and Salinger has a mouth like a sailor.) Oh, and my friend is referred to as "Female" on my chat program. It's a short, boring story for another time.

Oh, and one more thing: Polly weighs in at 12 lbs and Kipper at 17lbs.

9:38 PM Female: sorry, had an emergency "there is bunny poop on my hands" emergency...

me: yikes!

so we've both been made poopy by pets today :-D

Female: lol soap and water

9:39 PM hahaha what the @#$% happened to you and the whole poop thing?!?!?!?

me: you didn't want to shower with your bunny?

Female: yeahhhhhh no.

9:41 PM me: so for the first time in their entire lives the cats did not use their litter boxes. They had crate angst. Kipper peed in the crate on the way to the vet, which was embarrassing (ish) enough - mostly for him. And then I had to leave them because of their paperwork [ed: in case you've missed it, we moved from Dallas to San Jose...apparently the cat's paperwork didn't make the trip, despite requests for it] and then he pooped in his kennel (not uncommon and he was there for hours and hours) and backed into it so it was on his back paws.

Female: oh gross!!!

9:42 PM me: Well he has kennel rage. Like Dr. Jekyll/ Mr @#$hole kind of kennel rage and so when I get there they asked me to get them out of their kennels, which I did no problem. Kipper's claw was bleeding where he'd caught it trying to dig out of the kennel. Polly was in the back hissing at anyone who wasn't me.

it gets better

Female: lol!!

me: so I get Kipper and we sit on the floor and the vet comes over and treats his paw - minor wound, he puts silver nitrate on it and it stops bleeding and we're all good.

he goes in the crate. [ed: Vet assures me that from now on the cats will be anesthetized. I'm all "Duh. Told you." But more respectfully, of course]

Female: and drn?

9:43 PM den?

9:44 PM me: I pull out Polly, who is still angry but lets me pull her. And her little paws are all sweaty and she does NOT want to go into the crate with poopy Kipper. Not that I blame her in the least. But I put them in one crate because they calm each other in the car.

Female: poor polly

me: on the way back I'm halfway home - with the windows open on the highway which I never do but EGADS THE SMELL - and then suddenly there's no crying

and then there's more crying

and then WHAT THE @#$% DID YOU @#$% AGAIN?

Female: holy!

me: and yes.

Female: HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!

9:45 PM omg!!!!! Hahahahahahahaaaa!!!!!

me: I didn't realize that I was right until we were in the back bathroom and I was closing the crate so they wouldn't get back into it and track it around - this was not a solid poop and kipper has slid in it while he was freaking out about Polly (I assume) pooping and so it's all over the crate and all over his hind legs.

so I turn on the shower. Grab her by the scruff, pull the door open a bit and toss her in.

9:46 PM Howling like you've never heard. Like the water is acid or something.

Female: ohhh myyyyyy gaaawwwwd

me: grab him by the scruff, slide the door open and push him into her face so she won't get out. But she does.

Female: oh @#$%!

me: push him in, slide door closed (I'm naked this whole time, btw)

Female: WET @#$%!

NICE!

sounds like something i'd do

me: grab her by the scruff, and we body block Kipper from getting out while we get in

9:47 PM I'm sliding around on my @#$ trying to keep them in and get the door closed and not get scalded by the water which has suddenly become very hot.

Female: oh crap!

me: I adjust the water (blocked them with my body until it was decent) and pull off the shower head, which is on one of those hoses.

Female: thank GOD!

9:48 PM me: then I just chased them around with it while they crawled up the door, the walls, my leg (Polly) and every now and again I'd reach down and hold up Kipper's tail and just spray him in the @#$ until he managed to get away from me.

Female: HAHAHAHAHAAA I have so done the @#$ spray

me: when I was satisfied they were clean I gave them one more spray, held the door closed with my heel because Polly has figured out how to open it, and washed my ENTIRE BODY with my Burt's Bees face soap because it has witch hazel in it.

9:49 PM Female: omg

me: then I wrapped them in towels and dried them as much as they'd let me and then I set them free and I sprayed bleach EVERYWHERE.

The crate is still outside.

Female: did you come out unscathed?

me: I did,

Female: WOW!

me: mostly I just wish I'd had my camera.

Female: thats amazing

me: they hate me

Like I said before. I just wish I'd had my camera.

This picture was taken last month. It's the most recent picture I have of them.

Happy Friday!

German Commercials

They're just better sometimes.

My car, which already has awesome commercials...this one is just better:




PS - 4 images are for sale as posters/prints, more to come as soon as I stop doing other things (which actually includes taking more pictures) and edit/post them.

Link

ps - it says "0 originals for sale" because you can't buy the original piece. It's not a painting, it's a piece of film. If I were selling paintings then you could buy the original or a print of the original. And I might start painting again. That actually sounds relaxing. Just call me Renaissance Girl (just leave out that math/science part...)

Jumping In

Please see inspirational blog here.

A-hiking we will go...

(source)

So we did.

Saturday morning, we took advantage of the break in the rain, got in the car, followed some not-very-accurate directions, and wound up here. In the middle of the (not giant) redwoods. We picked what we thought would be a moderately easy trail, but somehow ended up with 30 degree incline for most of it. My legs are still tired.


But it was very pretty:

Our house is somewhere in the haze between where I was standing on the far mountain. I have no idea where, though.

And I got Video of a Salamander:




In other news, we joined a climbing gym out here: Planet Granite. It was great. The Sunnyvale location is like the mecca of indoor climbing...and yoga. And as a bonus, we also got our REI dividend in the mail....and I'm going to use that as a segue to talk about how much I don't like hiking shorts. They're just not flattering. I get that they serve a purpose and they're comfortable and yada yada yada...but ever since the foot surgery a million years ago I've been partial to skirts over shorts. I blame the almost 6 months of being in some form of cast. Luckily, the active-wear designers out there heard my opinion and have made...the hiking skort.

(source)

And there are many many styles. So this (along with some yoga tops and maybe some capris) will be what my dividend dollars go to. And as soon as it gets warm (stupid rain keeps every day hovering in the 50s) we'll be out and about every weekend. Yay!